


Zeppelin Bend

by msraven



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, First Time, Fury is a good friend, Get Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The idea of intimacy of any kind is laughable and my paranoia is increasing to the point where I rarely get more than a few hours of sleep at night.  I’m tired and I’m lonely.  So if you can help me with all or any of those, I say show me where to sign.</i>
</p><p>Or the fic where Phil is a very high-priced prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming to Terms

“When was the last time you got fucked, Barton?”

Clint feels absolutely no remorse in spitting an entire mouthful of coffee all over the SHIELD director’s desk. He does get a little extra satisfaction out of seeing a drop of liquid slowly sliding down Fury’s lapel.

“Okay...what the fuck kind of question is that?” Clint retorts. “Sir.”

“It’s a fair question. You’re one of my top agents, Barton, and even I can see that you’re strung tighter than your bow,” Fury counters. “You need to find a way to relax and relieve some of that fucking tension you’re carrying around.”

“And you think letting someone touch my dick is going to help with that?” Clint fires back.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s pretty telling that you’re insinuating it _won’t_ help.”

Clint drops his head with a sigh and tries to remind himself that Nick is one of his oldest friends in addition to being his boss. This conversation has been a long time coming and he’s somewhat surprised it’s taken this long. 

“It’s not just lack of sex, Nick,” Clint admits. “I’ll concede that it’s not helping matters that I can’t remember the last time anyone got near my dick or my ass, but it’s really not the worst thing.” 

“I know that,” Nick says gently. “I know you don’t like talking to psych -”

“I’m not telling those idiots anything, let alone anything that all the senior agents have access to,” Clint interrupts. “No offense, sir.”

“None taken,” Fury says amicably. “I sometimes toy with the idea of you teaching others how to get through those interviews without saying a damn thing - would improve interrogation resistance techniques - but I’m not sure I want that skill spreading around.” 

Clint shrugs. “Not everything’s teachable.”

Nick nods in acknowledgement. “Back to our original topic. You need someone to help you with both and I think I can help.”

“You know I care about you, Nick,” Clint says seriously, fighting a smirk, “but I don’t think our professional relationship would survive if we fucked each others’ brains out.”

Clint has to pat himself on the back for startling a laugh out of Fury. As far as Clint knows, he’s one of a handful of people that Nick is comfortable enough with to let himself laugh out loud.

“You’re a fucking loon, Barton,” Nick eventually says. 

“I try.”

“What I was trying to say was that I know someone who may be able to help,” Nick clarifies.

Clint looks at his boss skeptically. “You know someone who can fix my fucked up head _and_ fuck me while he’s at it?”

“I do,” Fury confirms with a nod. “Phil’s an old friend. He specializes in long-term contracts and takes the time to understand what his clients really need. Phil is discreet and in high demand, but I’ve talked to him and he’s agreed to take you on as a client. Clint,” he continues and leans forward in his chair, “I trust him. I’m trusting him with you. You can’t argue that my concerns aren’t valid.”

Clint drops his head, signaling his acquiescence, but can’t help asking, “Is this an order, sir?”

“I’d prefer you see this as a suggestion from a concerned friend, but I can make it an order if I need to,” Nick responds.

Clint sighs and lifts his head all the way back to look at the ceiling. “When do I meet the guy?”

~~~~~

“You must be Clint, I’m Phil.”

Clint shakes Phil’s hand and walks into the apartment. Clint has to admit that Nick probably knows him better than he suspected. While Clint hasn’t been with too many men, Phil is already hitting most of his kinks - slightly older, great eyes, firm handshake, and an air of quiet confidence. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Phil,” Clint responds and lets some of how much he means it to leak into his voice. The corner of Phil’s half-smile lifts a fraction and Clint has a feeling that it counts as a big reaction from the other man.

“Shall we have a seat?” Phil asks, motioning towards two chairs flanking a small table by the fireplace. “Can I offer you a drink? I have Caol Ila, if you’re interested.”

“Sounds perfect. One cube only please,” Clint requests as he settles into the chair facing the door. Phil places the glass in front of Clint and he takes a sip, eyes closing briefly in appreciation of the smooth single-malt Scotch. “25 year old, very nice.” 

Phil nods in acknowledgement and Clint lounges back in the chair. He doesn’t flinch or look away as the other man’s eyes roam over him appreciatively. “Shall I go over my terms and see if we can come to an agreement?” Phil asks.

“Please.”

“The fee for my minimum five sessions has already been paid up front by your employer,” Phil starts and Clint can’t keep his eyebrows from going up in surprise - Fury wasn’t kidding when he said he’d make it an order if he had to. “We can arrange for any additional sessions now or wait until we’re through with the first five. Sessions can be scheduled for as short as two hours or up to twenty-four. Most of my clients prefer the overnight hours, but I’m willing to make arrangements based on your schedule and mine. Days between sessions are up to you as well, with the condition that the first five occur within a two month period. Time frame for any additional sessions can be discussed and agreed upon at the time they are purchased. This apartment has been rented specifically for the two of us, and only the two of us, to use for our sessions. No sessions will take place outside the confines of this apartment. All sexual acts are on the table with two exceptions - no third parties for security reasons and no BDSM.”

Clint nods at the first and raises his eyebrow at the second. 

“While I have practiced and find the acts enjoyable, I do not have enough expertise to guarantee it wouldn’t put either of us at risk,” Phil explains and Clint nods his agreement. It’s not a deal breaker for him. “Sex will always be openly offered, but there is no expectation for you to do anything other than what you desire. Communicating with me, however, is a requirement.”

“Fair enough,” Clint says. “What’s your rate for additional sessions?”

“Ten thousand per session,” Phil replies evenly and Clint only nods again, earning him another slight uptick of the edge of Phil’s smile.

“What else do you need from me?” Clint asks since they’d already traded clean medical records prior to this meeting.

“I need you to tell me why you’re here or at least why your boss seems to think you need to be here,” Phil requests. “It will help me determine if I can be of help or if I should refer your elsewhere.”

“Fair enough,” Clint repeats and looks at the amber liquid in his glass for a moment before meeting Phil’s eyes. “Everyone I’ve ever trusted in my life has tried to kill me or in some other way destroy me. As a result, I find myself unable to trust anyone’s motivations. It’s gotten to the point where I’m incapable of any interpersonal interactions outside of work and, as evidenced by my being here at all, it’s also beginning to impact my working relationships. The idea of intimacy of any kind is laughable and my paranoia is increasing to the point where I rarely get more than a few hours of sleep at night. I’m tired and, fuck it all, I’m lonely. So if you can help me with all or any of those, I say show me where to sign.”

Phil blinks at him a few times and it’s clear that Clint has managed to surprise the high-priced prostitute cum therapist. 

“Not what you were expecting me to say?” Clint asks.

“No,” Phil responds honestly. “Most clients lie or evade and require me to read between the lines.”

“Well...desperate measures,” Clint says, raising his glass in a toast before finishing it off. “Think you can help me?”

“Most definitely,” Phil answers with confidence. 

“Good. I’d like to extend the contract an additional five sessions with all ten to be completed within the next 3 months, assuming it fits within your schedule.” Clint delivers his request in the same business-like tone that Phil had used to outline his terms, drawing a more genuine smile out of the older man. 

“I can work with that,” Phil says and then leans over to grab a tablet from the bag next to his chair. He taps at the screen for a few minutes before handing it to Clint. “You will find the terms exactly as we’ve discussed them with one alteration - full payment will not be garnered until the completion of all ten of your requested sessions. If you find any fault with our interactions at the end of our contract, you are free to lessen or refuse payment.”

Both of Clint’s eyebrows raise at the change, but Phil only smiles serenely. “You have issues with trust, Clint. I need you to believe that my only goal here is to please you, to help you. I now have a vested interest in doing exactly that and not abandoning you in the middle of the contract.”

Clint finds himself smiling in a way that feels sadly foreign and picks up the stylus, only to have Phil’s hand cover his own. “You’re not going to read it?” he asks.

“Do I need to?” Clint asks back. “Trust goes both ways, right?”

Phil looks pleasantly surprised as he pulls his hand back and nods. Clint signs the tablet and hands it back to Phil. The older man signs it himself, taps a few more keys, shuts the tablet down, and then stands with a hand out to Clint.

“This isn’t our first official session,” Phil explains, “but I’d like to offer you something tonight if you’ll allow it?” 

Clint takes his hand, but shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for anything like that yet,” Clint says as he stands. 

“I’m offering you a good night’s sleep,” Phil says with a smile. “This building was designed by Roger Clark, who I’m sure you know provides only the best security possible. Nobody else can get in here but us and I’ll be here all night to watch over you.”

It’s Clint’s turn to blink at Phil in surprise. The familiar gun calluses Clint can feel on Phil’s hands are both attractive and comforting. Just his making the offer has every tired bone in Clint’s body suddenly aching for the comfort of a bed. He can only nod mutely in response and let Phil lead him into the bedroom. There is, of course, spare sets of sleep clothes and toiletries for Clint to use. He motions for Phil to precede him into the bed before he settles down himself. It takes a little silent maneuvering, but Clint eventually settles on his side, facing the door, with Phil warm at his back and strong arms curled protectively around him. He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer to avoid any false advertising. Yes, that is an M rating and not an E. Please set your expectations for the rest of the fic appropriately. Other than that, please enjoy. :)


	2. Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Phil kisses exactly like Clint would have expected - soft lips gentle, yet firm against his own. It’s a slow, sensual kiss that makes Clint’s toes curl and his heart beat heavily in his chest._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of past abuse in this chapter and the next (it's Clint)

Clint wakes up the next morning to find Phil already awake - or, more likely per his promise, still awake. Clint feels more rested than he has in years and has a sudden urge to kiss Phil’s half-smile, but can’t make himself cross the distance. Phil’s smile only gets wider and they slowly start the process of getting ready for the day. Clint leaves the apartment, trying not to feel too hopeful just yet, with their first official session scheduled for the following Saturday. 

Sleep comes a little easier for the rest of that week and Clint finds himself genuinely eager to see Phil that weekend. Events don’t unfold much differently than their previous meeting - they sit by the fireplace drinking scotch and talking. The key difference is that Clint talks about his childhood, from his drunk and abusive father, through the hell of the orphanage, and eventually the circus. Clint isn’t sure what opens the floodgates - if it was finally admitting he needed help or the sense of calm understanding that radiates from Phil. 

This night, when they settle together in the bed, Clint takes a deep breath and turns his back to the door. He lays his head against Phil’s chest, his whole body relaxing as Phil’s fingers card through his hair. “Sleep,” Phil says softly and Clint does. 

The next morning is a repeat of the week before, except Phil stops Clint with a question before he leaves. “May I kiss you?” Phil requests and Clint nods jerkily, his whole body tensing without conscious thought. 

Phil’s hand is warm against Clint’s cheek as he leans in for the kiss. Phil kisses exactly like Clint would have expected - soft lips gentle, yet firm against his own. It’s a slow, sensual kiss that makes Clint’s toes curl and his heart beat heavily in his chest. Phil gives a final peck against Clint’s lips, like the period at the end of a sentence, before pulling back completely. 

Clint comes to his senses to find his hands on Phil’s hips, the fabric of the older man’s suit jacket bunched and wrinkled inside Clint’s clenched hands. He takes a quick step back away from Phil and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Clint’s palms itch from the memory of how soft the material had felt against his weathered hands.

“I’ll...um...see you Saturday,” Clint says in lieu of goodbye.

“I look forward to it,” Phil responds softly and Clint firmly tells himself that Phil is required to say that to all his customers.

The following Saturday, Phil doesn’t bother asking for a kiss verbally. There’s a slight lifting of his right eyebrow and Clint steps forward to initiate the kiss himself. Phil gives him the same kiss-peck combo, leaving Clint unable to hold back a slightly goofy smile in response. 

Phil leads them to the couch instead of the chairs, draping his arm on the back of the couch as he angles his body toward Clint and gives him his full attention. Clint tells Phil about Barney and the Swordsman and his life as a mercenary. Phil kisses him long and slow before they get into bed, tugging gently on Clint’s t-shirt until Clint pulls it off with a nervous swallow. The first touch of Phil’s hands on Clint’s bare chest makes him tremble, but Clint doesn’t turn away and he doesn’t try to hide the multitude of scars as he let’s Phil’s hands roam over them freely. Phil makes no comment, pulling off his own shirt as he climbs into the bed. Clint wraps his arm around Phil’s waist and lets the older man’s gentle touch across the scars on his back lull him to sleep.

A week later, one of Fury’s newly recruited junior agents decides to have a go at one of Hawkeye’s raised perches and promptly falls off, landing on a slightly lower perch. The resulting rescue and trip to medical has Clint rushing out of headquarters five minutes before he’s scheduled to be at the apartment. He dials Phil’s number as he walks briskly toward the subway.

“Clint,” Phil answers, managing to convey a wealth of warmth and fondness in a single syllable. Clint’s steps falter even as his brain tells him that _this_ is why Phil is so well paid for his services. 

“Uh...hi,” Clint responds dumbly before giving himself a mental shake. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be late. I need to run home to grab dinner and a shower, so it’ll be at least an hour before I can get there.”

“Why make the extra stop?” Phil asks after a beat. “There’s a shower here and a change of clothes. I can have dinner brought up while you’re in the shower.”

Clint stops mid-stride and has no reason not to agree. “I’ll be there in ten,” he says and changes direction.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Clint apologizes when Phil opens the door. Clint leans in to give Phil a quick kiss as he walks by him and into the apartment, shrugging out of his light jacket to hang it by the door.

“Not a big deal,” Phil responds genially. “Anything in particular you’d like for dinner?”

Clint hums in thought for a moment. “Something with a little spice?”

“Easily done. Why don’t you jump in the shower?” Phil suggests and Clint wrinkles his nose at himself before walking towards the bedroom.

It’s not until he’s at the end of his shower that Clint realizes what he did at the door. He lets the hot water pour over his back and takes stock of the situation. Clint is enjoying himself. He’s sleeping better both here and at home. Clint is less tense at work, enough that the other agents and Fury have definitely noticed. Most importantly, Clint is comfortable around Phil in a way he’s never been around anyone else. The logical part of his brain tells Clint it’s what he’s paying for, but he believes it has much more to do with the man himself and not his chosen profession. For tonight and next seven sessions, it’s simple - all their expectations already laid out and agreed upon. Maybe it’s time for Clint to let himself enjoy it.

Clint has finished his shower, pulled on a pair of jeans, and is scrubbing his hair dry when Phil walks into the bedroom. The older man opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, walking slowly toward Clint while telegraphing all his movements. Phil’s hands land on Clint’s shower-warmed chest, making them both shiver, before they slide up - one to Clint’s shoulder and the other to back of neck so he can be pulled into a kiss. Phil punctuates the kiss with another peck, but Clint doesn’t let him step away. Instead, he wraps an arm around Phil’s waist and splays his other hand in the middle of the older man's back to keep him in place as Clint leans in for a longer, deeper kiss. Clint groans and tightens his hold at the first slide of Phil’s tongue against his own, losing himself in the kiss until the insistent ringing of the doorbell forces them apart.

“That would be dinner,” Phil says unnecessarily. Clint happily notes that he’s equally breathless and reluctant to step away. 

The bell continues to ring and Clint lets Phil go, shivering again when Phil trails his fingers down Clint’s bare chest before stepping away with a wicked glint in his eye. Clint takes several deep breaths, anticipation hot in his belly, and grabs a sweater Phil had given him the weekend before. Clint’s choice is rewarded when Phil’s appreciative gaze roams slowly over him as he sits at the table, lingering where the sweater pulls snugly across his shoulders. 

Dinner is pleasant, the Thai curry delicious and exactly what Clint hadn’t realized he was craving. They lounge at the table after dinner, finishing off a bottle of wine and trading amusing stories from their days in the military. Clint helps Phil clear the table, working together in comfortable silence that does nothing to stop the flutter of Clint’s pulse every time they accidentally come in contact. 

As soon as the last dish is put away, Phil has Clint crowded against the counter and is, once again, kissing him breathless. Clint returns the kiss eagerly, fingers moving impatiently to pull at Phil’s shirt buttons and Phil pulls back to give him a soft reminder.

“This can stop at any time, Clint. We only need to go as far as you’re willing to.”

Clint nods and leans over to mouth at the skin he’s exposed along Phil’s throat, making the older man gasp and bury his fingers in Clint’s short hair. He pulls away after a moment and leads them into the bedroom, agile hands making short work of both their clothes. They tumble onto the bed in just their boxers, hands and mouths roaming along exposed skin. Every inch of Clint is thrumming with desire when Phil’s hand stills at the waistband of his boxers. 

“Please,” Clint pleads and Phil’s hand moves lower, tangling their legs together when the last barrier is finally removed. 

Clint writhes uncontrollably beneath Phil, seeking friction, unaware of the sounds coming from low in back of his throat. It doesn’t take long before the slide of Phil’s hand against him has Clint arching off the bed, crying out, and seeing stars. He comes back to himself with Phil still hard against his hip.

“Phil...” Clint says, the roughness of his voice surprising him. Phil bucks against him once, twice, before shuddering and going boneless against Clint. 

Clint can’t help raising his eyebrows in surprise at Phil when the older man finally lifts his head. 

“I’m a professional,” Phil says, still a little out of breath. “Believe me when I say I held out valiantly after watching and listening to you just now.”

Clint barks out a laugh and Phil shakes his head fondly before reaching up to kiss him through his grin. They get cleaned up and finish getting ready for bed after some prodding from Phil, resettling soon after with Clint curled comfortably around Phil.

“Sleep?” Clint asks in a whisper, causing Phil’s brow to furrow for second until he finally nods in understanding. Clint waits until Phil’s eyes close before he lays his head down and lets slumber take them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will confess that the "kiss like the period at the end of a sentence" is not an original idea of mine. I know have seen/heard/read that somewhere, but I honestly cannot remember where or I would give credit where credit's due. It just seemed like something I could see Phil doing.


	3. Entanglements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sinking into Phil for the first time feels like something Clint’s been waiting for his whole life, but it’s nothing compared to how complete he is when Phil is inside him, somehow filling and surrounding him at the same time._

Clint doesn’t bother fighting the urge to kiss Phil the next morning. He reaches up just as Phil’s eyes flutter open and presses their lips together quickly, mindful of their combined morning breaths.

“Morning sex isn’t nearly as glamorous as the movies would have you believe," Phil says sagely before shoving Clint playfully out of the bed. “Shower sex, on the other hand, is definitely something I would highly recommend.”

They take the time to empty their bladders and swish some mouthwash before Phil drags them into the shower. Clint can’t help laughing as Phil turns on all four shower heads in the unnecessarily lavish bath and advances on Clint with an exaggerated predatory gleam in his eyes. The laughter dies off quickly as lips and tongues and slick skin meet, Clint reveling in how Phil’s firm muscles, typically hidden beneath his conservative clothes, flexes under his hands.

Clint bites back a wanton moan as Phil cages him against the wall, only to have Phil protest roughly in his ear, “No. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. God, you’re beautiful like this.”

Clint can’t resist Phil’s quiet demand and his head makes a dull thud as it hits the wall behind him. He gives in fully to the sensations pouring over him, as tangible as the water from the shower, hands scrabbling for purchase along Phil’s arms and back as he’s taken to the brink and over. Phil follows soon after, sagging against Clint with his head buried in the archer’s neck. Clint wraps his arms around the older man and they stay like that for long minutes catching their breaths, the steam from the water creating a warm cocoon around them.

Phil eventually pushes away from the wall and Clint, reaching for the shower sponge and soap to begin the process of cleaning them up. Both of their movements are slow and sated, the task at hand interrupted often by lingering touches and languid kisses.

Clint leaves the apartment later that morning with an unfamiliar feeling settled deep in his chest - happiness.

~~~~~

“Hey,” Clint says into the phone a few days later, trying in vain to shield it from the noise of the helicopter whirring behind him. 

“Clint?” Phil asks. “I can barely hear you.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” Clint apologizes. “I’m leaving today on an unexpected trip and probably won’t be back for a few days. Any chance we could push to Wednesday?”

“Of course,” Phil responds quickly. There’s a pause before Phil adds, almost too softly to be heard over the rotors, “Be safe.”

“I will,” Clint promises and schools his features into the near-scowl the other agents are expecting from Hawkeye. “Let’s get this clusterfuck of an op on the road,” he says as he climbs into the helicopter and pushing thoughts of Phil to the back of his mind.

It turns out that Clint’s description of the op is generous and he’s not surprised when Phil’s eyes widen in shock after he opens the door on Wednesday night.

“Did you fall out of the helicopter?” Phil asks as Clint steps past him and into the apartment. They had previously agreed to another dinner and Clint’s stomach growls loudly when the smell of garlic bread hits him. He’s never been fond of MREs and tends to only eat enough to keep his energy levels up. 

“Um...no?” Clint says sheepishly - he’d jumped, not fallen. He gives Phil his best puppy-dog eyes until the man relents and provides his usual hello kiss-peck. 

Clint winces as his split lip protests the action and Phil scowls. “Should you even be here and not in medical?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Clint responds and chooses to ignore Phil needing to help get his right arm out of his jacket. “Can we just eat? I’m starving.”

The veal parmigiana is perfect and Clint all but inhales it, not noticing that Phil hasn’t given him any red wine to accompany dinner. He leans back in his chair and jerks up when the wood makes contact with his back. Phil’s fork clatters loudly onto his plate as he stands and points towards the bedroom.

“Up,” Phil says. “Get down to your boxers and sit on the bed before I stop fighting the urge to strangle you myself.”

Clint’s too tired to argue and manages to get down to his undershirt and boxers by the time Phil comes in with a large first aid kit. Phil sighs as he sets it on the bed next to Clint and stands between the archer’s splayed knees. Clint can’t resist leaning his head into the older man’s stomach, sighing in contentment when Phil starts carding his fingers through Clint’s hair. 

“Jesus, Clint...” Phil says softly, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“I don’t trust doctors,” Clint responds anyway. “When I was a kid, they’d always say they were trying to help, but usually only made things worse. A few of them tried calling CPS, but my dad was a pretty smooth talker when he was sober, so we’d have a few weeks of respite and then the beatings would start up again, usually much worse than before. Eventually, I learned it was better to suck it up and avoid doctors altogether. I guess I never grew out of it.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, just holds Clint a little tighter to him before quietly helping him get his shirt off. Phil works in silence as he meticulously sees to each of Clint’s various cuts and bruises, applying some secret salve to the worst ones along his side and back that leaves them feeling a hundred time better than before. Phil guides Clint back to lay flat on the bed, the older man’s eyes unreadable as he mouths at the faded scar on the side of Clint’s neck before working his way downward. Phil’s lips trail along each scar he encounters, as if wishing he could somehow make them and the more horrible memories of Clint’s life fade away.

Clint doesn’t remember when he falls asleep - wishes he could remember more of how Phil’s mouth had felt soft and wet around him, pushing him inexorably towards his release. Instead, he remembers waking from a nightmare in the middle of the night to the feeling of Phil’s strong arms held protectively around him and the sound whispered reassurances against his ear. 

~~~~~

The next few sessions are relatively uneventful. The sex continues to be amazing. Clint learns that Phil has a definite weakness for how Clint’s voice goes gravely and low as he reaches his climax. Clint, in return, loves watching Phil slowly unravel below him - losing the exterior of calm and control that he’s come to associate with the older man. Sinking into Phil for the first time feels like something Clint’s been waiting for his whole life, but it’s nothing compared to how _complete_ he is when Phil is inside him, somehow filling and surrounding him at the same time. 

Dinners become standard and Clint even talks Phil into letting him cook one night, a hobby Clint rarely indulges in even when he’s home and not at HQ. Phil plays sous chef and heckles Clint throughout the process, but closes his eyes with a sigh when he first tastes the Coq au Vin. 

Clint tells Phil about Bobbi and Natasha, letting the old bitterness slip away with each word he speaks. 

Clint is lighter and more relaxed, feeling less like committing mass murder when he attends the yearly Stark gala as the SHIELD liaison to Stark Industries. He’s twenty minutes away from his self-imposed time limit for mingling amongst the shallow and rich, distracting himself with thoughts of what to make for dinner the next night, when someone calls out his name. Clint turns toward the sound of Pepper Pott’s voice and blinks, telling himself that his thoughts are impinging on his vision - that it’s not really Phil standing with Pepper and Tony Stark.

Except that it _is_ Phil whose eyes widen a fraction when they land on Clint. It takes every second of Clint’s experience and training in covert ops to walk calmly over to the trio standing a few feet away.

“Clint!” Pepper cries as he draws nearer, leaning over for a kiss on the cheek that Clint automatically provides. “I was hoping to catch you before you snuck out.”

“Clint? Who’s Clint?” Stark says, rehashing the old joke. “His name is Agent.”

“It’s good to see you again, Pepper,” Clint greets warmly, ignoring Stark as per their usual interaction. Fury and Pepper both get a kick out of the stolid agent persona Clint took early on in his dealings with the genius billionaire. Stark, in retaliation, becomes increasingly flamboyant and boisterous in the SHIELD agent’s presence. It’s a nice balance that has, until now, led to healthy working relationship for both parties involved.

“Oh! Let me introduce you,” Pepper says and Clint is forced to turn his attention fully on Phil. “This is Roger Clark. I’m sure you’ve heard of his security firm. Roger, this is Clint Barton, the government liaison I was telling you about.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Clint says steadily, reaching out to shake Phil’s hand. Phil’s eyes are shuttered, betraying nothing and Clint knows that his inner turmoil is equally hidden.

“Likewise,” Phil responds. 

“We were talking about his newest building design in Penang and I was raving about the hawker stalls you took me to when we were there,” Pepper breaks in.

They make small talk for the next twenty minutes about the relative merits of street food in Malaysia, Stark complaining about his inability to walk freely amongst the stalls, until Clint’s pre-set alarm chimes in his pocket. Clint pretends to check his phone, making the usual excuses about an urgent work issue, and thinks he sees a glint of amusement in Phil’s eyes as he walks away. 

Clint lays awake much of the night, unsure about how to process the new piece of information he’s been handed. He spends hours on the range the next day, letting the familiar cadence of notch-pull-release calm the chaos swirling inside him. His mind is settled by the time he walks into the apartment carrying several bags of groceries. Clint leans in for his hello kiss, which Phil promptly delivers, and acts like the other night never happened. Phil seems perfectly happy to play along. 

Clint, however, isn’t afraid of creating uncomfortable situations and thinks it’s important to share at least a little of what’s going on in his head. They’re still in the middle of prepping dinner - Phil peeling carrots and Clint sauteing onions - when Clint decides to bring it up. 

“I met someone interesting last night,” Clint says casually and sees Phil’s shoulders tense out of the corner of his eye. “Roger Clark. You know, the guy who designed this building.”

Clint doesn’t turn away from the stove, continuing to watch Phil in his peripheral vision as the older man carefully places the peeler on the counter and turns toward him.

“Clint...” Phil starts.

“Seemed nice enough. Good looking. Definitely my type, except he seemed a little stuffy - too serious,” Clint continues as if he hadn’t heard Phil say his name. “Like I said, interesting, but not sure it matters since I doubt I’ll see him again.”

He adds the cubes of beef to the pan and waits, hoping Phil can discern what he’s trying to say - that Clint understands Phil’s need to separate this from his other persona and that Clint accepts Phil in this form as easily as he would Roger Clark. He holds his breath as Phil steps closer, wraps his arms around Clint from behind, and rests his head on Clint’s shoulder. The tensions slips out of them both and they continue making dinner after Clint pokes Phil with an elbow and reminds him that the carrots aren’t peeling themselves.

Clint doesn’t know what it says about him that he’s willing to continue paying for Phil’s services instead of seeking out a normal relationship. What Clint _does_ know is that he’s never felt as centered in himself as he does when he’s with Phil and, if shelling out a significant portion of his pay is the only way to keep it, it’s a very minor price to pay. 

He’s standing on top of a building a few days later, raining arrows down on the unsuspecting terrorists below him, and wondering how to approach the older man about extending their contract indefinitely. It’s a small distraction on an otherwise simple mission. 

Clint never sees the RPG coming.


	4. No Strings Attached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _More hands grab at him and Clint continues to struggle, but it’s no use. There is a sudden, blinding pain and a scream is torn out of him that Clint doesn’t recognize as his own voice. Then he’s falling back into the soothing, all-encompassing darkness._

Luckily for Clint, Sitwell does see the RPG and Clint isn’t distracted enough to ignore the agent screaming “move, move, move!” through the comm in his ear. Unluckily for Clint, even he’s not fast enough to outrun an RPG or the resulting explosion. Clint feels shrapnel tear into his side as he jumps off the roof and fires a grappling arrow, causing him to slip and slam hard into the next building. Another piece of shrapnel tearing the grappling line just adds insult to injury. Clint is thankfully unconscious by the time he hits the ground.

~~~~~

There is nothing and then there is pain. Clint feels hands all over him, holding him down, and he strikes out - fighting fiercely as more hands replace the ones that lift away when he makes contact with something solid.

“Ow! Fuck! I think he broke my nose.”

“Hold him down, damn it. We need to splint his leg!”

More hands grab at him and Clint continues to struggle, but it’s no use. There is a sudden, blinding pain and a scream is torn out of him that Clint doesn’t recognize as his own voice. Then he’s falling back into the soothing, all-encompassing darkness. 

When Clint resurfaces, there is no more pain, but his mind tells him something is very wrong. Everything feels heavy and weighed down. Clint tries to open his eyes and fights the rising tide of panic when he realizes he can't. He attempts to move his arms, only to find them restrained, and he can't keep the panic at bay. 

_No, no, no_ , his mind screams. _Not safe. Unknown. Must get away._

Clint pulls against the restraints and arches off the bed when pain lances through him. But the panic, the need to go somewhere safe, overwhelms everything else. Suddenly there are unknown hands on him again and the panic intensifies. Clint thrashes wildly on the bed, thoughts bent only on escape.

"Get the hell away from him!" 

Clint's captors still and the words cut through the panic because Clint knows that voice - recognizes it through the unfamiliar anger as belonging to someone he trusts, someone he needs, someone he loves. 

"You heard the man," commands another voice. Fury, Clint's groggy mind supplies and he stills against the bed, muscles still tense and chest heaving from the struggle. "Step away from the bed. All of you."

There is a rustle of clothing, the sounds of several footsteps moving away, and then an achingly familiar set of hands taking one of his. 

"Phil," Clint tries to say, but it barely comes out as a whisper and his throat feels like it's on fire. 

"Shhhh. Don't try to talk," Phil says, voice back to it's normal, calming cadence. One of Phil's hands moves away and then there's an ice chip gently nudging against Clint's lips. He accepts it greedily before trying again.

"Phil?"

"I said don't try to talk," Phil reprimands, but his voice is as gentle as his touch. "It's me. I'll be here for as long as you need me to watch over you, but you have to let the doctors take care of you." Clint tenses again and Phil cards his fingers softly through Clint's hair until he relaxes against the pillows. "I promise I won't let anything bad happen. Do you trust me?"

Clint nods and then squeezes Phil's hand when his head protests the action. "Happened? Eyes?"

"You fell off an exploding rooftop. Nick tells me you were lucky," Phil responds, voice catching, and Clint hears him take a shuddering breath. 

"M'fine," Clint says to reassure him, hearing the undercurrent of fear in Phil’s voice. 

Phil lets out a shaky laugh and the hand that had been in his hair moves to cup Clint's cheek. "You're a little ridiculous, you know that? You have a severe concussion, several broken ribs, a badly broken leg, and the doctors had to operate to fix the damage from the shrapnel. They're being careful with your eyes because they had to flush some debris out of them. You're pretty far from fine."

"S'nothing. Had worse," Clint replies, suddenly tired now that he knows he's in safe hands. 

"That really doesn't make it better," Phil mutters before starting to move his fingers back through Clint's hair soothingly. "Sleep, Clint. I'm here. Sleep."

Clint gives Phil's hand one more squeeze before letting the sedatives pull him back under.

~~~~~

Clint comes to a few more times, the panic caused by the sedatives subsiding faster each time he hears Phil’s voice in his ear and feels their fingers tangled together. 

“Clint, wake up,” Phil prods. “Open your eyes for me.”

Clint’s automatic reaction is to clench his eyes closed tighter. “Mmmm...five more minutes,” he grumbles.

“No, Clint, _now_ ,” Phil says, unmoving. “Open your eyes.”

Clint forces his eyes open, blinking several times to clear the haze, and flinches back when a bright light suddenly blazes in front of his eyes.

“Fuck!” he cries, shutting his eyes again and pushing the light away from him. 

“You probably should have warned him, first,” Phil says dryly and Clint can hear the unseen eye-roll in his voice. “You’re lucky you’re not swallowing that light right now.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Barton,” the doctor apologizes. “I need to check your eyes to ensure they’re not scratched or otherwise damaged.”

Clint nods and opens his eyes, following the doctor’s instructions to look in various directions. The doctor eventually turns off the light, tells Clint his eyes don’t look to have sustained any damage, and walks away. Clint blinks again to clear the spots from his vision. The first thing he sees is Phil’s warm blue eyes, filled with relief, and crinkled at the edges from his smile. 

“Hey,” Phil says on an exhale.

“Hey yourself,” Clint responds. “You look like shit,” he adds after taking in the rest of Phil’s appearance - he’s rumpled and unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes.

“I still look a hell of a lot better than you,” Phil retorts.

“Make sure Phil gets some food and sleep, will you Nick?” Clint asks, turning towards the director who had walked silently into the room.

Fury nods, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Agent Sitwell is outside to show you to some temporary quarters.”

Clint pulls at Phil’s hand to get his attention. “Get some real sleep,” he requests. “Don’t just come back in an hour. I’ll be okay.”

Phil’s eyes are filled with concern, but he nods in agreement anyway. Clint pulls on his hand again until the older man leans over to deliver a gentle kiss and peck. Phil pulls away slowly, turning at the door with a last, lingering look at Clint as if afraid to let him out of his sight. Clint’s heart clenches in his chest - he’s _never_ had anyone care about him this much - and sends up a silent prayer that he be allowed to keep this unexpected gift. 

Fury doesn’t comment, only walking further into room and sitting in the chair by Clint’s bed. The doctors let Clint sit up and eat a little, Fury staying to give Clint an informal debrief of the op that had gone so spectacularly wrong. The director lingers afterward, talking football and getting Clint’s opinion on the junior agents. Clint is reminded, once again, that Nick is and has always been a good friend to him, regardless of his reputation as an uncaring bastard. 

It doesn’t take long for Clint’s energy to wane, staying awake made more difficult by a new dose of pain meds, and he ends up falling asleep mid-sentence. Fury is gone and Phil is back by the time he wakes again - Phil looking rested and freshly dressed in a crisp button-down and slacks.

“Good morning,” Clint greets.

“Good afternoon,” Phil corrects and stands to lean against the side of the bed as they raise Clint to a sitting position.

“You look better,” Clint says, tangling their fingers together.

Phil doesn’t respond and keeps his eyes cast downward, focused on their joined hands. The older man sighs and meets Clint’s eyes. “There are a few things I may not have been fully honest about.”

“You’re not secretly a SHIELD agent, are you?” Clint asks, tensing.

“No,” Phil responds with a frown and a shake of his head. 

“Good,” Clint says, relaxing back against the pillows. “Are you gonna tell me you’re not really a very well paid prostitute? Not that there’s anything wrong with it if you are.”

“No,” Phil says, brow furrowing deeper. “I still am, or I at least I was. I’ve been in the process of retiring my long-term clients over the past year or so. I hadn’t been planning to take any new clients until Nick called in a favor.”

“Oh, okay then.” 

“Of all the possible scenarios, what concerns you most is my secretly being a SHIELD agent?” Phil asks. “The prostitution doesn’t bother you?”

“I kill people for a living,” Clint answers with a shrug. “I don’t think it’s really my place to question other people’s choice of profession. I trust you to stay safe and take care of yourself. On the other hand, if you were secretly an agent and I didn’t know about it, that would mean you’re pretty high up in the chain. While SHIELD has pretty loose fraternization policies, they tend to frown on relationships with subordinates. I’d really prefer not to look for another job.”

“Is that what it would be? A relationship?” Phil asks with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Clint responds and it’s his turn to look down at their hands. “I was kinda hoping that’s where this was heading. Since you’re here and I don’t remember sitting at hospital bedsides being part of your normal services.”

“There are very few things I’ve done with you that are part of my _normal_ services,” Phil says. “I don’t sleep with clients - sex yes, sleep no. It tends to lead to dependency. I don’t share meals, let alone _cook_ meals with them. And if anyone else had walked in as beat up as you did that night, I would have sent them to a hospital. I convinced myself that having someone care about you was what you needed and I didn’t think too hard about why it was so easy for me to give you that. You...you’ve never been a normal client for me, Clint.”

“Oh,” Clint responds dumbly before his face breaks into a huge grin. “I guess I shouldn’t feel weird about falling in love with you then.”

Phil’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open in shock before lunging forward to kiss Clint. Clint’s gasp when they break apart is a mix of pleasure and pain as his ribs protest Phil’s enthusiasm. They rest their foreheads together as they each catch their breaths.

“God, I love you,” Phil says and Clint tilts his chin to give him another quick kiss.

“Good,” Clint responds and then continues after a pause, “You do realize we’re now a horrible cliche and will have to deal with ‘Pretty Woman’ jokes forever, right?”

Phil lets out a small laugh and straightens away from Clint. They grin at each other goofily for a few minutes before Clint figures they should finish the conversation. 

“Why are you retiring?” Clint asks. 

“I got into the business because I was good at it and liked helping people. I offered a different kind of service and people were willing to pay quite a bit for my discretion,” Phil explains. “But you know that old adage - physician, heal thyself? I realized that helping other people wasn’t doing me any favors. It was my way of staying out of real relationships - using the manufactured ones as a stand-in for the ones I was afraid of starting, ones I didn’t have full control over. It was Pepper who suggested I make use of the apartment designs I’d been putting together for clients. She helped me put together some concepts and Roger Clark was born.”

“That’s pretty cute, by the way,” Clint interrupts with a teasing smirk. “Using Captain America and Superman’s alter egos. Didn’t realize you were such a fanboy.”

Phil’s ears turn pink, but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge Clint’s teasing. “It took some time for the Clark persona to gain a reputation, but it finally got to the point that I could retire from my previous line of work.”

“You’re not worried about your prior clients recognizing you?” 

“Most of my clients were either military or part of some other government agency. They’re familiar with the need for secrecy and alternate identities,” Phil explains. “Beyond that, I got paid very well for my discretion, so it’s really not in my clients’ best interest to out me and explain how exactly they know a prostitute, no matter how high-end. I was clear of it, ready to restart life as Roger Clark. Then Nick, who I’ve known since my Ranger days, called and it’s not easy to turn down someone who’s saved your life a few times. I wasn’t expecting you. You are like no one I’d ever met.”

“I get that a lot, but not usually meant in a good way,” Clint responds. “I think I knew early on that trusting you was risky, because it was too easy to tell you everything, too easy to let myself fall for you. In the end, I figured that paying you to love me back was still better than the alternative - I didn’t want to let you go.”

“It may have been easier on us if we’d met under normal under circumstances,” Phil theorizes, “but I’m not sure either one of us would have been as willing to give it a try.”

“Mother fucker!” Clint suddenly exclaims when another scenario pops in his head. “That fucking bastard planned all this, he had to have.”

“Fury?” Phil asks. “You think? I...wow...that’s...wow. You may be right.”

“I know I’m right.” Clint’s anger flares and then disappears immediately, knowing that Nick had nothing but good intentions in mind. “Jesus. I’m gonna owe him for the rest of my life.”

Phil beams at him and, while Clint can only be thankful for the outcome, Fury is still due for some excessive pranking when Clint is back on his feet - meddling is not something that should be encouraged. 

“Hey Phil?” Clint asks, realizing something else. “I’m not sure you ever told me your last name.”

“It’s Coulson. Phil Coulson.”


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Go fuck yourself Coulson.” Clint says through gritted teeth._
> 
> _Coulson only hums unapologetically. “Sorry, no can do. I know you like watching and that would just be rewarding bad behavior.”_

_A few months later..._

“Go fuck yourself Coulson.” Clint says through gritted teeth.

Coulson only hums unapologetically. “Sorry, no can do. I know you like watching and that would just be rewarding bad behavior.”

Clint can’t help laughing even though the action makes it that much harder to brace himself on the bars currently keeping him upright. 

“Come on, Clint,” Phil coaxes, “just a few more steps.”

The last few months have been nothing Clint could have anticipated before meeting Phil. Clint was allowed to go home a week after landing in medical, discharged once the doctors confirmed no adverse reactions to the concussion and no lasting damage to his vision. The other injuries were fairly standard for Clint, who was lucky that his body armor had prevented any greater internal damage. Phil ended up nearly moving into medical along with Clint - the doctors and Fury quickly learning that having Phil there guaranteed good behavior out of Clint. In his defense, Clint did warn the doctor he didn’t like being touched unexpectedly and he’d apologized afterward for breaking the man’s jaw. 

Once discharged, Phil and Clint attempted to move into the previously rented apartment, but quickly realized that there wasn’t enough room for Phil’s numerous suits, Clint’s few possessions, and Phil’s extensive collection of Captain America memorabilia. They decided to move into a larger apartment in another Roger Clark building in the city and had, so far, managed to avoid all suggestions at having a housewarming party. 

It wasn’t all perfect. Clint, even on his best behaviour, was a horrible patient - the limited movement caused by the cast only increased his frustration and caused him to lash out verbally, if not physically. Phil on a design deadline turned out to be equally short-tempered, turning into an absolute bear when his blood sugar dropped below a certain level. Phil began coming up with new ways to motivate Clint to cooperate and Clint learned to always keep energy bars on his person at all times. Neither of them had ever lived with anyone else before and becoming accustomed to each other’s constant presence will probably take much longer than a few months - Phil has a tendency to leave his myriad of shoes strewn throughout the apartment and Clint is incapable of emptying the dishwasher unprompted. 

Clint also learned early on that Phil had a very strong protective streak, especially when it came to Clint. Phil insisted that Clint continue seeing a therapist outside of SHIELD, who Phil had personally vetted, and Clint wasn’t at all surprised when Phil converted the formal dining room into a physical therapy gym once Clint’s cast had come off. Phil attended every session with the SHIELD physical therapists, listening carefully to their instructions, so he could proceed to torture Clint mercilessly between appointments - using a celebratory trip to Asia as incentive to get Clint back in fighting form.

“Just a few more,” Phil coaxes again. “Last lap down the bars.”

Clint grits his teeth, cursing himself for agreeing to double the trips up and down the support bars and mentally planning Stark’s assassination for convincing Phil that using the new leg weights Tony had designed would speed up Clint’s recovery. He gets half-way before his leg threatens to buckle underneath him.

“Come on, Clint,” encourages Phil before getting a glint in his eye that sends a shiver of anticipation down Clint’s spine. Clint will never admit that half of his grumbling and cursing through the exercises is to encourage Phil’s inventive ways of motivating him. 

Clint takes a step and Phil pulls off his sweater. Another step and Phil’s undershirt follows, the impromptu strip tease continuing until Clint is a foot away and Phil is down to his boxers. Clint takes the last step and, if they end up on in a heap on the floor - Phil already naked and a sweaty Clint struggling out of his clothes - Phil has nobody to blame but himself.

Clint couldn’t be happier.

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who were wondering about the title, I read somewhere that the draw towards prostitution is because it's sex with no strings attached. This...wasn't that fic.
> 
> The [Zeppelin Bend](http://www.netknots.com/rope_knots/zeppelin-bend) knot, also known as the Rosendahl Bend knot, is used to tie two ropes together. It an easy knot to tie, very secure, and jam proof.
> 
> Make sense? :)


End file.
